


If Things Were Different

by parabatai



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parabatai/pseuds/parabatai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spin on how Clary and Jace found out they were siblings and an alternative course to how the story could have went.... and an emotional turmoil for Jace.<br/>Mashup on City of Bones scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Things Were Different

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a super short idea that came to me and I just had to write it down, haha. It takes place in City of Bones, and it’s just an idea, a “what if?”. Just writing down an alternative course for the story….Excuse the shortness please~~ And remember, this is just if things had been different in CoB, so don’t expect complete accuracy.

Clary sat at the edge of her bed, sketching her mother. She missed her genuinely, even though her mother had been on business trips for much longer than the few days she had been missing. It had only been two days, but Clary was already struggling to remember the exact tilt of her head, the curve of her smile…

Clary threw down her sketchbook in frustration and fell back on the bed, blinking at the ceiling to prevent the warm tears developing in her eyes from falling down her cheeks. Crying would help nothing now. And even though Hodge and Jace and Isabelle were nice enough, and even though she liked knowing the truth about herself—that she wasn’t a normal “mundane”—she couldn’t help but wish for her life to go back to normal. Or, as normal as it had been.

Clary draped an arm over her forehead and wished for sleep to come, to take her away from the miserable world that she was in, but a knock at her door woke her as soon as her eyes drifted shut.

“Clary,” Jace’s voice called. “If you’re ready, come meet us in the library. It’ll just be Alec, Izzy and I.”

Clary sighed. So much for trying to forget about her life problems. “Yes, sir,” she replied tiredly, then slowly rose from the bed and opened the door. Jace was standing outside, and as soon as he saw her, he raced to her side.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

Clary yawned. “Tired. Miserable. Worried.” 

Jace frowned, eyebrows creasing with concern, lips hardening. Clary remembered how those lips felt under hers, soft yet firm. It was amazing to see how drastically Jace could change in one moment; at times his lips were hard in concentration, other times soft and wonderful when he was kissing. Clary brushed the day-old memory aside.

“I know what you mean. Sorry that I had to interrupt you. Were you sleeping?” Jace asked. Clary nodded, rubbing her eyes. 

“We just want to get to know you, Clary. I don’t think Alec trusts you all that much and I hope we can change that today.” 

They arrived at the library and Jace drew the heavy oak doors open. Izzy and Alec were quietly conversing, sitting cross-legged on the intricate Oriental rug on the floor. Clary made a mental note to study its designs later. As soon as they walked in, Isabelle stopped talking and let her hands, which were previously gesturing fervently, drop. She looked up at Jace, then finally at Clary. She seemed to be inspecting her. 

Alec’s gaze was locked on Clary, not even bothering to hide his glare. She quickly looked away, uncomfortable. 

“Come sit, Clary,” Jace said, patting the ground. He had already sat down, so fast that she had missed it. Not surprising. She cautiously sat down, Jace’s hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“I don’t get it,” Isabelle said suddenly. “I don’t get how, or why, you killed a demon. I don’t get why you’re here, I don’t get who you are, I don’t trust you.” 

Clary looked down at her hands and fiddled with her bracelet. “I don’t know who I am myself,” she mumbled. 

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Jace said with an air of authority. Alec glared at him. Clary was starting to wonder if his face was permanently fixed into a scowl. “We know that you have the Sight. You are at least part Nephilim, your mother was attacked and kidnapped by demons, and you are not a mundane. Start off with if you know your parents. How well did you know them, what can you tell us about them? Which one could have been a Shadowhunter?”

Clary immediately felt pressured, as if she was locked in a cage and Jace was cornering her. She had already been extremely uncomfortable when Hodge had questioned her, and he was being fairly gentle. Jace’s questioning, however, was rough and to the point.

“My mother…I don’t think she could be a Shadowhunter. She was perfectly ordinary. She didn’t believe in anything slightly supernatural.”

Isabelle’s forehead creased. Her expression had turned from something hostile to something more curious. “How do you know she was ordinary? It’s more than likely that she was hiding something from you. Something big, or else she wouldn’t have been attacked. Greater demons, no less. Did she have any odd habits or features?”

Clary thought back through her memories. Her mother, caring yet overprotective all through her life. She tried searching for unusual behaviors that Jocelyn had, but it was like there was a mental block in her memory. “She was really overprotective. I’ve never been outside Brooklyn my entire life,” she said hesitantly. “My father died before I was born. Maybe he was the Shadowhunter. I don’t know. My mom always kept a picture of him on her nightstand, but she always said he was a soldier in the military. I remember every year on his death day my mom would take out his picture from the frame and cry over it, but I’ve never been to his grave or had anything to do with him besides the one photo.”

“Did he have any scars like the ones we have? Did your mom?” Jace asked.

Clary thought back to the photograph. The last time she’d seen it, it was already wearing down and covered in dust. It was also black-and-white and fairly blurry. But she didn’t recall any scars. Her mother, on the other hand… Clary thought back to when Simon had told her that Jocelyn’s body was covered in tiny scars. “I don’t know about my dad, honestly. Simon told me—”

“Who’s Simon? Is he your brother?” Alec interrupted rudely.

“No. He’s my…He’s my best friend and I don’t even know if he’s okay…” Clary drifted off, thinking about how she left him in the coffee shop abruptly and never came back. “Anyways, Simon said that he always saw tiny scars on my mom’s skin. But I never noticed any at all… I just feel like there’s something in my brain that’s blocking my memory…” Clary’s head was beginning to hurt. She couldn’t conjure any image of scars on Jocelyn’s body, yet something felt off, missing. 

Clary saw Jace’s golden eyes flicker. “If your Simon is right, then she might be a Shadowhunter. We have tiny scars from our Marks,” he said, raising the sleeve of his shirt and exposing his scar-filled arms. 

“Do you have any siblings? I thought that Simon guy was your brother,” Alec said. Clary looked down at the rug, studying its loops and swirls. 

“I…I had a brother,” Clary began. 

“Had? Don’t you mean have?” Isabelle interrupted, and a flash of concern crossed her face, the first sympathetic expression she had since Clary’s arrival.

“No. He…died. My mother cried over him every year on his birthday,” Clary responded, remembering Jocelyn’s painful sobs as she held a box with the initials J.C. carved on its side which was filled with his mementos. She blinked back tears and dug her fingernails into her blue-jeaned knee. Jace rubbed her back as she hunched over. He looked troubled. 

When Clary finally gathered herself and looked back up at the Shadowhunters’ faces, she was surprised to see looks of sympathy on the Lightwoods’ faces. “Anyways. He died before I was born. I assume he was a year older than me or something like that. My mom always cried over this box filled with things like his baby shoes, pictures, light hair…One time I asked her about him. My brother, I mean. She said that he died along with my father. I didn’t really think anything was wrong about that, but she also said that my father died in the military so now…I think she might be hiding something. I don’t know. All I know is that my brother’s initials were J.C.” Jace’s hand, which was rubbing her back, froze. Clary continued, oblivious to his surprise. “They stood for Jonathan Christopher. I don’t even know what my real last name should be. I always took after my mom. Fray. That was her maiden name. Anyways, I saw his baby picture. It was really blurry, but I could only tell that he had fair hair. Anyways, that’s my brother. Jonathan Christopher something. Fray, I guess, if he wanted my mother’s last name.”

She turned her head to look to her side and saw Jace looking very pale, hands trembling. 

“Jace? Are you alright?” She asked, placing a tentative hand on his knee. He brushed it away, and Clary felt a surge of hurt burst in her. Only yesterday had they kissed and now he was acting as if she was a fly. 

“A-are you sure that that’s his name? Are you sure…are you sure Jonathan Christopher is your brother?” he asked, voice cracking.

Clary looked at Jace, concerned. It was the first time she’d seen him look so vulnerable. “Umm…” she began hesitantly. “Yeah. Of course. My mom said so, and I don’t think she’d cry that hard over someone who wasn’t her son or family or whatever. Why? Do you know Jonathan? Is he actually alive? I need to meet him. He’s my brother, maybe he can help me find my mom.”

Alec spoke up grimly. “You’ve already met him.”

“I have? Where and when?”

“He’s right by you,” Jace spoke up, finally looking at Clary dead in the eyes. His eyes seemed to be drowning in sorrow.

Clary’s eyes widened in horror, and she brought her hand up to her mouth, as if erasing the kiss from her crush—brother—would do any good. 

“You’re kidding,” she said. Thankfully, her voice came out more stable than she’d expected. “I thought your name was Jace!” 

“Short for Jonathan. Middle name’s Christopher. Jonathan Christopher at your service,” Jace replied with mock seriousness. 

“This is like a soap opera drama…” Isabelle breathed. Alec hit her knee. 

“I…I think I need to go,” Jace said suddenly, and stumbled out of the library as fast as his legs could take him.

 

*

As soon as he walked out of the library he ran to his room and locked himself inside. Clary’s my sister, he thought in a daze. It didn’t seem real. He had followed her and admired her like he never had before with other girls; but he didn’t attribute the feeling to being her brother. It didn’t feel right…the pull in his chest was definitely something that wasn’t sibling love. He put his head between his legs and took a deep breath. He’d just kissed her yesterday! It was repulsive to think that a brother kissed his sister because of his testosterone running high, not because she was his sister. Yet, when he thought back on the memory, all he wanted to do was go back in time and be with her again, kiss her again, cherish her again. It was so wrong, but so very right.

He heard the door open and groaned. Throwing back his head to look at the ceiling, he said, “Get. Out.”

Alec, now standing over him with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, shook his head. “Get. Up. We need to talk.”

Jace fumed. “How did you get in here anyways?”

“Locks are for mundanes. Are you learning after your sister now?”

Jace’s eyes flashed. “I suppose I am. What are you going to do about it, Alec?” Then he sat up so quickly that he bonked his forehead on his parabatai’s, but paid it no heed. He walked over to his window, leaving Alec rubbing his forehead. 

“You love her, don’t you?” Alec asked suddenly, an accusing tone in his voice. Jace whirled around, arms by his side, fists clenching.

“No,” he said, voice cold and flat. “I don’t know her. She may be my blood sister, but no more a sister to me than a stranger I just met on the street.”

“Ahh…” Alec said, twirling his stele, “Lies.” He pointed the tip of his stele to Jace’s face. Jace didn’t flinch. 

Jace put his hand out and lowered the stele. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice deadly. If it had been anyone but his parabatai he would have already punched him or her. 

“Come on, Jace,” Alec laughed, short and brittle. “Yesterday you were shoving your tongue down her throat and today you tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about? And now she’s your sister. Some damn luck.”

“And you still dream about shoving your tongue down my throat,” Jace hissed, merciless, “even though we are parabatai, even closer than brothers. Even though I am a heterosexual male who is firm in his sexuality. Even though it breaks the Clave’s laws by loving me. Or thinking you love me.”

Alec paled, his dark hair a stark contrast to his skin. “And you break the Clave’s laws all the time. You put a Mark on your sister, and you thought she was mundane,” he said, trying to defend himself, though it came out as a whisper.

Jace pressed his face closer to Alec’s and murmured, “And it payed off, didn’t it? Now I’m reunited with my sister, who is whole and happy and Nephilim, and now I can love her as a brother.”

“Brother,” Alec scoffed. “All right. As you say.” Then he stormed out of the room and shut the door.

Jace leaned against the window and ran a hand through his hair. Abruptly and decisively, Jace grabbed a dagger from his weapons belt and jogged off to the training room.

*

Hours later Jace found himself sitting on the training room bench in the early morning, head in his hands. He’d been training the entire night, and was now sweaty and tired. It’d proved to be an excellent distraction from the awful day, as usual. The dummy lay in shreds on the training room floor where he’d taken out all his anger. Although he pulled off all-nighters every now and then, he felt particularly weary this time.

He heard the door unlock and creak open, and raised his head. A headache was working its way into him now, making him more irritable than ever. “What is it now, Alec?” He called out, returning his head to the comfort of his callused hands. 

“It’s Clary,” said a tentative voice. 

Immediately Jace stood up, ignoring the thousand aches that sprung up, and walked over to her. She looked at him warily, probably expecting an outburst. And rightly so. Instead, Jace took her hand and led her to the bench, gesturing her to sit. She did, and finally Jace took a good look at her. It looked like she hadn’t gotten much sleep either, with dark circles under her eyes, and her red hair lacking its usual spring. 

“Hey,” she said quietly, looking at where their hands were still connected. “I’m sorry that I upset you.” 

“I’m not upset. It was just a lot to handle, Clary. I think you’d understand that. I have a sister now, I’m happy.”

“Really?” Clary stared at Jace incredulously. “I don’t know, doesn’t it feel weird that we’re siblings? The feelings I have for you… don’t seem like something a sister should feel.”

Now it was Jace’s turn to look at her incredulously. He approached his next words carefully. “Look, about what happened in the garden…” Clary took in a deep breath, looking at him apprehensively. “I don’t know what happened back there, but it can’t happen again. Obviously. Just know that I really care for you, and I will care for you as a brother from now on. Nothing other than a brother.”

Clary nodded minutely. Maybe it was Jace’s imagination, but she looked disappointed. Probably his imagination. 

Jace stood up and motioned for Clary to follow. “Let’s go get breakfast. I hope someone cooked, besides Izzy.”

Clary smiled weakly. “I cooked before I came here. Pancakes. I…I couldn’t really sleep, though I did get a few hours in.”

Jace sighed a sigh of relief. Clary looked into his eyes, searching his golden ones. He delved into her eyes, drowning in their green intensity. He could’ve stayed there forever, staring into her soul, but the feeling in his heart sprung up again, and his shoved it down, back into the depths of his being, and averted his gaze. 

Abruptly Clary reached up to touch his face, right under his eyes. She seemed to notice the dark circles for the first time. Remembering they were siblings, she let her hand fall. “How much sleep did you get last night?” she asked. 

Jace looked at the ground and shook his head. Clary put her hands on her hips and tried to look bossy, which failed because of her tiny size. It was rather endearing, and Jace’s lips curled into the tiniest of smiles. “You are going to eat breakfast and then you are going to go sleep for eight hours,” she said. 

Jace smirked. “Sorry ma’am, but I have demon-hunting to do today.”

Clary huffed. “You’re so tired. Look in a mirror! You look like a walking disaster. If you go hunting like this you might get hurt.”

“But I’m Jace. I never get hurt, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Of course I need to worry about you!” Clary exclaimed, voice hovering on a scream. “I’m your goddamn sister—” she stumbled over the word sister—“and I care about you. You’re my only scrap of family left! If I don’t care about you, and something happens, what do you think I’ll feel like? I’ll be an orphan! Besides, you’re the only one who cares about me here, the only person that even has a chance at helping me find my mother. And I need you to be alive, and healthy, and willing for that.”

Clary finished her speech with blazing eyes and Jace’s heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t imagine Clary, crying over his dead body, finally family-less. He couldn’t imagine her curled up on the bed, weeping until her eyes could produce no more tears. And finally, he couldn’t imagine her without anyone that cared for her, without anyone that she would be willing to live for.

Jace nodded, resigned. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking down at her feet and blinking rapidly. Hopefully she wasn’t crying, or else Jace didn’t know what he’d do. 

Looking down at her, pushing back tears, he felt a surge of sympathy and admiration leap towards her. She’d lost so much in so little time, yet still remained strong. He admired her for that. Such a small, tiny person could hold so much bravery…

His control broke and the cage he kept around his heart and emotions opened. Quick as a flash, he cupped Clary’s face in his hand and brought his lips down to brush against her cheek. Her cheek was wet with tears, and he kissed away a new tear that was trailing its way down her face.

He reluctantly drew away and built the walls over his heart again. 

“I had to do that one last time,” he said, with no regret at all, “and don’t forget Clary, I’m here for you.”

And as she walked away to the kitchen, he wondered if all he did was make his feelings grow even more.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, there it is! Please don’t kill me for this haha… but I hope you liked it   
> I’m not going to be adding any more chapters to this but hopefully I will publish another story of oneshots later on. Probably a lot later on because of school haha…
> 
> Anyways it would really make my day if you would review/comment and leave maybe a prompt or something that can get my creative juices flowing so I can write a oneshot soon! 
> 
> ~parabatai


End file.
